Meltdown XXIV & Fallout 024 (Dec '22)

As Kholozh the Larger sent the Cowl's lithe form hurtling across the coliseum with a swift, unexpected uppercut, the tens of thousands of greysuits assembled within the arena leapt to their feet. They had come from every corner of the continent, and even a delegation from Werzhalt across the sea, to bring their contribution to the annual harvest. Eze J-L looked around at the solemn faces in the onyeisi obodo's box, contrasting them with the gleeful countenances of the revelers in the rest of the coliseum. The Werzhalt Governor looked just about ready to explode, such was the sourness of his visage. They all knew, just as J-L did, that the harvest was light. There was barely enough food for the greysuits, let alone the umu nwanne.

Looking around the coliseum, Eze J-L began to realise that many of the greysuits assembled there wouldn't even remember a time before the umu nwanne came and demanded their tax. Fifteen turns of the sun had come since that fateful day, when their worker race had ceased to be alone and - shortly afterwards - ceased to be comfortable too. The umu nwanne's leader, who spoke to them through a terrible mask adorned with seemingly living tentacles that bristled and groped like tendrils, had told them that they'd 'grown fat whilst others in their very system starved on the streets'. J-L had to take the interloper's word for it. No greysuit had ever left the surface of Echiche Efu before the umu nwanne came. They were blissfully unaware that other, alien species even existed, let alone struggled to feed themselves. The masked visitor assured them that this ignorance did not absolve them of their culpability, or their newfound responsibilities.

The interloper didn't even call their beautiful, blue planet Echiche Efu. He named it, in a sterile manner, as F462ю, and referred to the greysuits as its indigenous sentients. Everything about him had rubbed J-L, who wasn't the Eze but was the son of the Eze back then, up the wrong way. But what could the greysuits do? Their lives were for farming and mining, not fighting. Even if they'd had a mind to resist, their fiercest warriors - those who were now putting on a show of hand-to-hand combat in this very coliseum - couldn't hope to resist the umu nwanne. Their leader had shown his might. The barren land where the city of Vluzhk used to sit served as a stark reminder of that.

And so, each year, upon the anniversary of their first coming, the umu nwanne returned. The date and the group’s leader remained constant, but nothing else did: the strange, flying ship that bore him to their city, the host of supporting characters he surrounded himself with, and the demanded quota of food and minerals all differed wildly from year to year. But they'd managed it. Every year the greysuits paid the taxman's toll, and still had just about enough to keep themselves full through the winter.

Maybe not this year, though, Eze J-L mused, whilst stroking one of his chins. Only then, as a glimmer of moonlight reflected off Kholozh the Larger's helmet and caught his eye, did he realise that his solitary musings had not been as solitary as he'd thought. His assistant, Russ, was glaring at him ponderously.

"We shouldn't be this worried," Russ said, when he noticed his master's attention shift towards him. "We are in charge here. Not the umu nwanne.”

J-L said nothing, but his mind conjured up the image of the black, charred land on the edge of the sea, five hundred kilometres to the east. Down in the pit, Kholozh the Larger was welcoming his next opponent. His fourth of the run. If only more of them were like Kholozh, maybe they could resist. But there were none like Kholozh except for Kholozh.

“There’s help to be found,” Russ continued, when it became clear that the Eze wasn’t going to respond. “Out there…”

Russ pointed into the night’s sky, and as he did J-L became aware of a distant whirring sound, which had been masked until now by the clamour of the coliseum. The Eze squinted in the general direction of the unexpected interruption. Usually, the umu nwanne worked like clockwork, arriving each year on the same day and at the same time. Tomorrow, not today, But there was no mistaking the ultra-bright pink headlights that heralded their annual visitor’s arrival in the sky.

“I thought both Octopis were destroyed,” Dreamer said, whilst scanning the bridge for the first time on the voyage. Usually, the bridge was the place where people would ask you to do things, and as such was one to be avoided. Remarkably, almost every detail of this ship seemed identical to Michelle’s memory of the old ones.

“They were,” Uncle replied, from the command station. “I can travel through space, through time, even through dimensions, Handgrabber… it’s not such a difficult task to have a new ship built. The Maid and the Avatar are out side-adventuring in the OctoBop, so I thought I’d take the new Octopi Mk. III for a spin.”

“And where exactly are we going on a spin to?” Gerald enquired, hesitantly. He was sprawled out on the pink couch under the colossal front window of the ship, reading about the Crease-Belt’s transient meteor-farming communities in one of Uncle’s magazines.

“To do our good deed for the day, Gerald!” Uncle declared, bombastically and with extravagantly unnecessary gesticulations with both his arms and the tentacles on his mask.

Thomas entered a sequence at his station to lower them into orbit. The small, blue planet that had been growing in the front window for the last few hours came into view again, spanning the horizon now as they entered a holding pattern just above its atmosphere.

*****

GERALD GRAYSON and MICHELLE von HORROWITZ
with
THOMAS WEST, QUIET, HARRY THE SANE WIZARD, and UNCLE J.J. JAY!
are
[CTHULHU'S NEPHEWS]
in
"SEVEN STAND-INS."

*****

Only when Uncle had fully disembarked from his ship and surveyed the horrified faces of the sentients around him did he realise that he’d flattened one of them beneath the Octopi as they’d landed. He couldn’t see his face because of the gleaming helmet he wore, but given that they were in the middle of what seemed to be a primitive coliseum, COSMIC HORROR assumed that he was some sort of gladiator. One less to oppose him, should they decide to. He decided against even mentioning the being, and instead began to peruse the faces of those around him in pursuit of J-L.

That task wasn’t easy. There appeared to be quite a few greysuits in the vicinity. Several thousand, even. Fortunately, Uncle was saved the trouble by the Eze’s approach. The dignitary was let onto the coliseum floor through one of the combatant’s traps, and came scurrying towards Uncle with a sense of great urgency. His assistant, whose name COSMIC HORROR couldn’t remember, marched beside him.

JAY!’s eyes drifted towards his own team, who had all emerged from the ship and taken up positions around him. Most prominent among them were the newest of his recruits: Dreamer and the Daredevil, who contrasted each other even now, with their identical experiences and perception of the possibilities of what Uncle could show them. Gerald craned his neck in every direction, his curiosity overwhelming him and causing him to see nothing in his attempts to see everything. Michelle, meanwhile, seemed passive, almost bored, as if she found this world was as wanting as the one they'd come from. Equally noticeable was how they weren't looking at one another, and hadn't since they'd boarded the ship. This would have to change. That was the whole point of the adventure.

Any further musings on the Connection's fragile relationship, and Uncle's impending interventions into it, were curtailed by J-L's finished approach. The greysuits' leader - appointed by some process that Uncle didn't really understand - peered at the squashed body of the gladiator beneath the Octopi's hull. JAY! cleared his throat nervously, drawing the other's attention back to him.

"J-L, my old friend!" Uncle said, whilst patting the Eze on the shoulder.

"J-L?" repeated Michelle, sarcastically. "Seriously?"

"It's started already," remarked West.

"I hope we're not interrupting anything," Uncle continued, ignoring his Nephews. "Although it looks like we definitely are interrupting something. What is this? Some sort of games? I hope these aren't in my honour. I've been a deity to a primitive sentient species or two in my time and it's not all it's cracked up to be. There's no Jaghut blood in these veins. Do I need to move the ship? Is it okay there?"

J-L blinked, slowly.

"You're a day early," he said, finally.

"What's a day between old friends like us, eh?" Uncle asked, throwing an arm around J-L and leading him back towards his viewing box. "We can stick around for a day if we need to. Maybe join in with the festivities, even! How about it? Your best gladiator versus my best gladiator?"

"I'm afraid our best gladiator is under your ship," the Eze's second-in-command pointed out, whilst following behind JAY! and J-L with a displeased look about him.

“Okay, well I’ll put up my second best gladiator, then,” JAY! allowed, without offering the assistant so much as a glance. “COSMIC HORROR is nothing if not fair.”

“I suppose I can warm up,” Harry put in, heeding the call.

“We haven’t time for duels,” Gerald reasoned.

“I’m glad someone is showing a little urgency,” Uncle said. “There’s a lot of redistribution to be done, after all. Maybe it’s best we just check on the harvest, J-L?”

“No, I meant, we haven’t time for duels because we need to get back for our matches,” Gerald reasoned, again. “This was meant to be a team bonding exercise.”

“The adventure is the team bonding exercise, Gerald,” Michelle interjected, with a roll of her eyes. The Daredevil bit his tongue.

“Now, Nephews, let’s not bicker,” Uncle said, in a placatory tone. “We must remember that we’re guests here, and our wishes are secondary to that of our host’s. If my esteemed friend J-L wishes for us to stay the night whilst they finish preparing the harvest, then so be it.”

All eyes turned to the Eze, who sighed deeply.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, before leading the way out of the coliseum and through the city in the direction of the Granary. Michelle lit a cigarette for the walk, which Gerald thought was pretty inconsiderate given that this wasn’t their planet to pollute. But he said nothing, instead electing to sidle along in silence next to Quiet whilst Dreamer went on ahead with Uncle and the greysuit dignitaries. Before long they emerged into the warehouse, and were surrounded by huge containers filled to the brim with food and minerals. To Gerald’s untrained eye, it looked like quite a lot of food and minerals.

“This doesn’t look like very much food and minerals at all,” Uncle declared, whilst developing a nonplussed facial expression upon perusal of the stockpiled resources. “What have you been doing all year, J-L? The technology I’ve given you should’ve advanced your farming and mining techniques by a couple of centuries, and yet you’ve barely produced more than you did last year. What’s the story?”

The Eze shuffled his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. His second-in-command looked at his master disdainfully. One to watch, Uncle thought.

“Storms,” J-L started, with a stutter. “A drought in the Summer, too. The harvest has been… difficult this year. This is barely enough to feed ourselves.”

“I can see that,” Uncle said, ruefully. “Well, I’ve already said once: I’m nothing if not fair. And I am early, as you said. So I'll give you that extra day to search your stores for any minerals you might be keeping in reserve. I won't take the food. I wouldn't want to leave hardworking people like yourselves short, even if there are others elsewhere in your system that are relying on you. But the quota of coal and crystals must be met, J-L. We wouldn't want a repeat of what happened in… what did you call that village?"

"Vluzhk," J-L answered with a gulp, whilst he recalled the splendor of that sprawling metropolis. A village.

"That's the one!" Uncle said, as if recalling the place he'd destroyed with fond nostalgia. "Well, that'll be it then, gentlemen. We'll be in the ship, up above, keeping a watchful eye. Let's go, Nephews."

With that, JAY! gave J-L one more hearty pat on the back and then took his leave. He was swiftly followed by each of his Nephews, who took their own turn patting the Eze on the back with an encouraging smile. J-L was unsure if the looks were encouraging or intimidating. All except Gerald, who only smiled awkwardly before shuffling along at the back of the pack.

*****

“Look, you need to go right and I go left,” Gerald suggested as their plan of attack.

“Yeah, but when I do that, I get overwhelmed on the right side and I run out of ammo easily, so that’s a flawed plan,” Michelle retorted, as she leaned forward towards the screen, crossing her legs in the process.

“I don’t know. What do you suggest then?” Gerald asked with a frustrated tone.

The Connection were in battle against an alien life form in a video game called Alien Civilization III, where they had to overcome hordes of aliens with the weapons they had scavenged for during their journey. Michelle went with her trusty shotgun while Gerald settled for dual pistols.

“How about you let me know when you’re almost out of ammo, then I’ll go to your side and help you out because I have an ability that allows me to reload quickly,” Gerald said, looking at Michelle.

“I don't know how to do any of that,” Michelle said, garnering a chuckle from Gerald as the level restarted.

Before they could begin again, Quiet stood in front of the screen and motioned towards the bigger screen to the Connection’s right. They looked to the right and dropped their controllers, their interest gained by the sight of the rest of the Nephews focusing on the bigger screen.

“That’s… new,” Thomas said, standing from his seat.

On the monitor, they see a small aircraft making its way to the Equinox Filling Station, their point of origin: Planet F462ю.

“Well, it was only a matter of time,” Thomas said with a disappointed tone as he sighed. "What with Uncle arriving each year, you'd expect them to develop a space program sooner or later."

Uncle entered the scene, rubbing his chin. He looked at Thomas, Michelle, and Gerald then back at the monitor. He massaged his temple, not anticipating this wrench in his plans.

“Thomas, Michelle, Gerald. Pack your bags Nephews, you’re going on a stealth mission,” Uncle said, putting two thumbs up in the air as the trio groaned.

“Can’t it be Thomas, Harry, and Quiet? Gerald and I are busy squashing video game aliens,” Michelle asked in an annoyed tone. It barely masked her contempt. Her partner correctly guessed its source, for he felt it, too. Playing a video game, poorly, was one thing, but the idea of prolonged and enforced contact with his estranged partner was difficult.

“This isn’t a video game, tulip. This is real life. It’ll be much more fun, I promise,” Uncle said in response, laughing his evil guy laugh, before catching himself, because he is in fact not an evil person. Perception is important. He let out a few coughs and was back to business. “So yes, you three must prepare for your stealth mission. It is essential for us to know what they're plotting.”

His request was met with groans again, but Thomas, Michelle, and Gerald marched to their quarters to prepare for the mission. Quiet looked at Uncle, as if suggesting that this perhaps wasn’t the wisest course of action.

“It must be done, my friend,” Uncle said, shaking his fist in the air adamantly. "It must."

*****

Thomas glanced to his left without turning his head to observe Michelle, who had angled her body so that it was facing as far away from him (though not because of him) as was possible, and was invested in a copy of The Outsider she'd taken from Uncle's bookshelf. She was nearing the end, which was unsurprising given the three hours it had taken to fly from the Octopi to here. Then, he glanced to the right, where Gerald was staring blankly out of his window with his arms folded. Neither of them had spoken for the duration of the voyage towards the Equinox, leaving Thomas to plug the conversational gap with the occasional monologue or update on their progress.

As a small blip appeared on the interface in front of him and signaled their approach towards the filling station, he decided to try one more time.

"I might not have any experience of Mile High Massacre," he began. "But I am the King of the Deathmatch, still. At least until March. This is most certainly in my wheelhouse, so I'm happy for you two to pick my brain, if you want to. I know you've both been in a cage in the FWA before… Jailhouse Blues, of course. And at Steel City for Gerald… though I must admit I can't quite remember who that was against…"

Thomas' words were only half-drifting into her mind as she tried to read the same sentence in her book repeatedly. The written text wasn't processed in favour of the spoken. She didn't agree that his qualifications as the King of the Deathmatch justified his sage advice on all things hardcore. She'd survived Steel Roulette and triumphed in Jailhouse Blues, alongside Gerald. She was quite comfortable inside a cage.

"... but Jailhouse Blues was a long time ago, now. Almost a year. A lot has changed, but I guess I don't really need to tell you two that. Uncle is worried that it's maybe not the same Connection now as it was back then. A team needs a lot to survive inside a cage together. Just think about the teams in last year's Mile High Massacre… all gone, now. Same as your opponents from Jailhouse Blues…"

She didn't disagree. Jailhouse Blues was probably the last time that she and Gerald were truly on the same page. The problems had started directly after that, when she'd deferred their tag team championship shot so both of them could focus on Nova Diamond and the world title. It was the right decision. She felt sure of that, almost a year on. Gerald wanted her full focus on the tag reign, and that is what she was giving him. It seemed, though, that he didn't really understand what it was she was trying to do. It was not enough to simply win the titles… to simply keep them. She wanted to dominate... to build something worthy of a place within her growing legacy. She regretted Gerald's complacency. The limited scope of his meagre ambitions.

"... and it's not the same as it was back then. This match-up isn't against a rag-tag bunch of thrown together tandems. They're real teams, now. Pairs who came together for a reason other than the whims of Jon Russnow. Pairs who have reasons to fight for each other. Pairs who actually want to fight each other…"

Gerald, meanwhile, continued to stare out of the window on his side of the Dreadnoct. He was watching the Equinox Filling Station grow in the distance, the details of its revolving arms - which seemed to grasp and grope in space as it rotated through the darkness - coming into clearer focus. The Daredevil felt it was typical that he should end up here, heaven knows how many kilometres away from Earth, on the eve of two of the biggest matches in his FWA career. God forbid they should be training or strategizing of trying to work through their differences. Instead, they were here, gallivanting with Uncle and solving issues that couldn't be further away from the truly important ones.

But that was Michelle's way. He'd tried to change that, but perhaps that was beyond him after all. And embracing it was proving more difficult than he'd hoped.

"... and so you're going to have to be a real team, too. Like you used to be. Like you can be again. Because I'm not sure that this teenage breakup shtick is going to cut it, you know?"

The only indication that the two were even listening to the podcast host was the heavy, synchronised sighing that Gerald and Michelle subsequently engaged in.

"Well, at least you're expressing exasperation together," West said, as he plunged forward a lever that began their landing sequence. "It's a start. Now come on, we're there."

It didn't take West long to locate the greysuit on the filling station. He seemed to have friends there, which didn't come as a surprise to the other two considering Thomas had lots of friends in lots of places. Someone matching the breathtakingly detailed anatomical description he gave had been seen entering Mulligan's, which was a bar on Arm 6B where mercenaries, bandits, and general riff-raff were known to converge and collude.

"Remember to keep a low profile," Thomas said, as they entered the tavern and found a quiet seat in the corner, relatively close to their mark. "No bickering. If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all… although that shouldn't be too difficult for our resident moody teenagers."

Michelle considered a riposte, but thought better of it. Thomas ordered two beers and a fruit juice from a three-eyed, no-armed waitress, and the promise of something to drink was enough to make Michelle compliant. She instead settled her gaze on the greysuit a couple of tables away, who was busy introducing himself to a pair of warlords in battle-garb. They were close enough to overhear, especially with the audio amplification earpieces that Uncle has equipped them with before they left the Octopi.

"And that's why I've come," the greysuit, who was recognisable as Eze J-L's second-in-command, even if none of the Nephews present knew his name. "The Eze sent me, his assistant, to ask for help. We are a strong and proud people… but we are not fighters. That's why we need you and your band. We can pay you, too. With the amount the umu nwanne take as tax, we can afford to pay you quite a lot and still be better off than we are now. Are you interested?"

The greysuit sipped at what seemed to be a tall glass of water and observed the two people across from him. One was a woman, dressed in steel and armed with a double-handed battle-axe and a chiral rifle. She had entered the second half of her life but still radiated beauty. The other was a sullen looking boy who stared at the ground whilst sharpening a long hunting knife. He didn't really seem as though he was listening, but the woman made up for it with an easy smile, paying the greysuit diplomat her undivided attention.

"We're interested," she said, finally. "But tell me, Russ, how it was you came to hear of me?"

"Everyone has heard of the DARK_GODDESS," the greysuit, Russ, replied. "This is my third time on the Equinox Filling Station, and each visit has regarded this mission. Your name has come up a lot."

"And what exactly has everyone heard?" she asked. Michelle noticed that she was still smiling.

"That you used to be a philanthropist, and that your name was one recalled with fondness and love," the greysuit answered. "But, for reasons unknown, you turned your back on your legacy, and made yourself a new one. You added DARK to your moniker, replacing the LIGHT that was there once. And that there are none that match her on the battlefield."

"I'm sure they say more than that," the GODDESS replied. Michelle thought her coy, but was more interested in the sullen boy at her side. She was unsure as to whether he was an expert in guarding his mind from her, or if there was nothing in there at all.

"If I may ask you a question," Russ went on, feeling bold. "I know of your band as the Seven, and I was hoping to meet more of your number before entering this contract. But the only friend you've brought doesn't seem to talk match. Can you tell me about your company?"

"We are called the Seven because there are seven of us," she began, after leaning forward and lowering her voice. “There’s the Crow Sisters, who you’d hear enough about if you asked the right people around here. Assassin mages from Khyrug-4. Still young, too, so who knows how powerful they’ll be in time. Their mastery of sleeping spells is unparalleled, and the whole battlefield stinks of vanilla after they’ve had their run of it…"

Michelle glanced across at Gerald, who was listening intently to the conversation whilst doing his utmost to remain convincingly aloof. He wasn't particularly convincing, she thought. One glance in his direction might give the game away. Fortunately, though, the mercenaries were as intent on securing the contract as the emissary was in selling it.

"Then there’s the hounds. You wouldn’t be able to pronounce their full names, which get longer every year. And the hounds have seen quite a few. I call them Jack and Nathanael, if I need to call them off. You should just hope you never see them. And there's Pone the Siamese Ogre. One set of legs, but two torsos sprouting from the same set of hips. That means two heads and two brains, but each one's a quarter the size it should be. Put four axes in his hands and watch him chop, though. He's the juggernaut of the operation, to be employed in jobs that require less tact and more brute force."

Between Michelle and Gerald, Thomas sat with a crossword book open and a notepad concealed within, upon which he scrawled diligent notes on what was being said. Sometimes, he would annotate the quotes with his own words, indicating to Dreamer that these warriors weren't as alien to the podcast host as they were to her and Gerald.

"And finally there's myself and Knocks, here," she went on, with a slight nod towards her companion. "As you've already noticed, he doesn't say much. He's been through a rough time as of late, what with his partners constantly dying on him. That's what brought him to me. It's also what makes him so violent… but you'll see that for yourself, soon enough."

A short silence followed. An eager, almost greedy smile spread across the greysuit's face.

"You all sound perfect," he said, finally, whilst licking his lips.

"I don't suppose you two have any thoughts between you," Thomas said, as they returned to the Dreadnoct. Something about his tone suggested that he doubted they did. Michelle shrugged her shoulders apathetically. Gerald stuffed his hands into his pockets. Thomas rolled his eyes. "You know, the whole point of us being here is to get you two on the same page. The rest of us don't have all that much going on right now, so we're sort of throwing our lot in behind you. A little reciprocation wouldn't go amiss."

They arrived at the ship, which Thomas promptly opened up before climbing inside.

"After you," Michelle offered, allowing her tag team partner to go first.

*****

“A little reciprocation wouldn't go amiss,” Uncle said to the Connection, shortly after Thomas had concluded his re-telling of the events upon the Equinox to the rest of the crew aboard the Octopi. “One of our three biggest hurdles in this adventure has now been cleared: we know who our enemies are. Always important."

"What are the other two?" Gerald asked, innocently.

"Well, the largest is getting you two on the same page," Uncle went on without pause. "Not that we can't survive the adventure without that. But seeing as that's sort of the whole point of the entire excursion, I'd consider this mission a failure if we don't address that. And the other is working out what parody we're in. Everything always gets a lot easier once we know what tropes we are contending with."

"Isn't that obvious?" Michelle asked. "We're in Seven Samurai..."

". …… .. …," Quiet concurred.

"Don't you mean Samurai 7?" Gerald corrected. "The anime?"

"No, not the anime. The Kurosawa."

"What's Anzu got to do with any of this?" Harry asked. "And besides, I thought we were doing A Bug's Life."

"Never Disney, Harry," Thomas said, whilst pulling his face. "And this is obviously a Magnificent Seven pastiche. Not the old one. The Denzel."

"It can't be Seven Samurai," Uncle interrupted the squabbling. "There's only six of us."

"We're not the samurai, Uncle," Dreamer explained. "We're the bandits."

"You mean the grasshoppers," said Harry.

"I think you're all sort of right, Nephews," Uncle said, from the command station of the bridge, after a moment of careful consideration. "Even if Seven Against Thebes shits all over those modern adaptations. Akira Kurosawa was a rip-off artist."

"Nothing wrong with being a rip-off artist," Harry interjected again.

“I only didn’t consider that we were doing Seven Samurai because it didn’t occur to me that we’d be anything other than the saviours in that dynamic,” Uncle began again. “But if that’s how this Russ wants to bandy my name about, like a workplace gossip at an interstellar water-cooler, then I’m happy to test out his chosen samurai. You’ll get your assignments in a few hours, Nephews. But first, a compulsory meeting in the theater room. Time to dust off my old one-man performance of Seven Against Thebes, to provide you all with some much-needed added context.”

*****

Michelle awoke after a few hours of uneasy sleep. She was in the bottom bunk in a bed that was now just about as familiar to her as any other bed she'd ever known, aboard the Octopi and in the quarters she routinely shared with Gerald. The Daredevil was already awake, and sitting in the corner reading through their assignment for the morning's engagement.

"Doesn't look like we're doing much," Michelle said, giving Gerald a slight jolt upon realising that she was now awake. They'd been over the instructions before sleep, after Uncle's rather rousing and almost moving theatrical performance. "Stay aboard the Octopi and take part in the closing negotiations. You think they've all already left?"

"Probably," Gerald answered. He knew that Thomas, Quiet, and Harry each had assignments that would give them no chance for sleep last night at all. They were almost definitely already on the surface, and Gerald wondered what they'd find there when they finally went. "But Uncle told us to be ready. I know that's an alien concept to you, sometimes."

"I'm ready," Michelle said, whilst climbing out of bed. She had slept in her clothes, and only had to pull on her shoes to make good on the statement. "What is it you think I'm not ready for? I sense a double meaning. Your subtext isn't that sub."

"You know what I'm talking about," Gerald said, and as he did his eyes involuntarily strayed onto the tag team championship belts in the corner of the room. Harry had made a stand upon which they could be displayed. They'd played along for the young wizard's spirits, mostly.

"I've been prepared for a tag team title reign for quite some time, Gerald," Michelle shot back. "We both have."

"Prepared to throw it away, before it's gotten started," the Daredevil returned.

"More half-heartedness," Michelle said, with a roll of her eyes.

“Half-heartedness?”

“It’s not enough for us to just be the tag team champions,” Michelle explained, frustration and exasperation plain in her tone. “We won the belts from Reagan Cole and Aka Yurei, Gerald. One of them disappeared again since and the other is a running punchline. Not too long ago, a Ground Zero novelty team held those same belts, and did more for the championships than the next two holders combined. The legacy of those belts is weak, Gerald. We aren’t going to fix that just by holding onto them.”

She took a step towards Gerald, attempting to level her voice and appear less confrontational.

“We have to dominate this division, Gerald. Like no team has been able to do for years. Nothing less than that will do.”

With that, Michelle picked up the chiral katana that Uncle had equipped her with the previous night. Gerald sighed, and then reached for his phosphorium revolvers and followed his partner towards the bridge.

*****

Gerald's suspicions that Harry, Thomas, and Quiet would have had little sleep were well-founded, for the three Nephews were dispatched early upon their own nefarious errands. The four separate partners amongst the seven (with this arithmetic anomaly explained by the lonesome Siamese) were quartered in different sections of the city, as was their way, forcing the Nephews to work separately whilst sewing their mischief.

The Sane Wizard was dispatched to the co-captain's quarters in the heard of the capital, where he placed the silent, sullen boy under a deep sleeping spell. It was a reconstruction of the spell the Crow Sisters were renowned for, though the young wizard couldn't quite get the odour right. He had to perform a separate aromatic conjuring to douse the room in the overbearing scent of vanilla.

The podcast host, after a rendezvous with Harry to collect the hunting knife lifted from Knocks' quarters, travelled to the Hruvll Plains. It was there that he came across a pair of resting war-hounds, who he promptly went about tranquilizing and gelding. It was something that Knocks had often threatened to do in his darker moods, dating back to before this alliance when they had shared another. And, of course, West was sure to leave the hunting knife, distinctive as it was, in a place where it would be found once his potions wore off.

The masked man, meanwhile, was sent first to the dungeons, where he unchained the Siamese Goliath to let him loose on the city. He also managed to get his hands on some of the lumberjack's fabled axes, which he promptly used to break into the mages' quarters in the city's old district. There, he either stole or destroyed whatever of the witches' equipment and supplies he could find, before blockading them in their room with Pone the Ogre's colossal axe.

All-the-while, the Nephews carried out the task of planting on their would-be opponents' persons certain incriminating artefacts that would imply their double agency. The odd trinket belonging to the Nephews, bearing their insignia, suggestive of a deal made within a deal. They were subtle, and Uncle doubted it would take much at all to cause the intended discontent. Mercenaries were, by their nature, mistrusting and untrustworthy. He only wished to poke at insecurities that were already there.

These small interventions were enough to give the planet an altogether different complexion when Uncle, Michelle, and Gerald arrived upon its surface again in the late morning. Bickering had matured into squabbling, which was now evolving into all-out warfare. The mages were involved in a skirmish with the Siamese ogre on the pale mountainsides that surrounded the city, the colourful blasts from which were visible from even here. The battle must have originated in the city, given that large portions of it were still on fire. The colossal war-hounds had grown timid and lazy, and now grazed idly around the city itself. Rather than unleashed upon their enemies, one of the hounds was routing the dispersed greysuits for an easy lunch, whilst the other lay dead with a wound from DARK_GODDESS's double handed battle-axe.

"This is why you must always talk, Nephews," Uncle said, as he surveyed the chaotic scene. His eyes locked onto an approaching party. He recognised the four figures as the Eze, his assistant, and the two mercenaries present at the Equinox. "Silence can lead to misunderstandings, and then to mistrust."

The negotiating party arrived, and when they came close enough it became apparent that the sullen, silent boy was still asleep. He was carried unconscious on the back of a horse. Deep-seeded aromas of vanilla still lingered upon his person.

"Nice of you to join us," Uncle said to the Eze, who - along with his assistant - had a scowl on his face. "Although I must admit, the company that you've invited is a little less savoury than that of the Nephews whom you've grown comfortable with. I really wish you'd have consulted with me first. It's a dangerous universe out there, my little greysuits…"

"Save it, Uncle," the GODDESS interrupted. It seemed that JAY! had more to say, but the mercenary had other ideas. "I don't know how you did it, but you've infiltrated by outfit. This has your mucky prints all over it. If I'd known COSMIC HORROR was involved in all of this I'd have never taken this contract in the first place."

"This isn't about you," Michelle said to the GODDESS. Gerald and Uncle both glanced at Dreamer, somewhat surprised at her sudden speech. "It's never really been about you. All of you are interchangeable. Just obstacles, really. This is more about us and them..."

She paused to point at the greysuits amongst them. The Eze and his assistant looked at one another, uncomfortable at being the sudden focal point of the discussion.

"... about them thinking that they can control the Nephews… thinking that they have a say or a role in what we do, other than that of a bystander. And about coming to an understanding that you don't. The Nephews are a force of nature, and not one you can control."

"This is about domination," Gerald offered. He didn't sound certain, but Michelle appreciated the sentiment.

"Well, it seems we are back where we began," Uncle said, whilst looking around at the two groups of diplomats with a smile on his face. "And so, Eze, my old friend, I'll offer you the same deal now as I did when I first arrived. Only I'll raise the stakes. I have my two fiercest warriors right here, as do you. How about that duel? If you win, no more tax. The greysuits will be free to go about their business, farming and mining and whatever else it is you people do, without the interference of us Nephews. And if we win, we continue to collect from you so that you can do your bit for the sustainability of the wider system. Only, your quota of phosphorium and chiral crystals will have to go up. A little something to sweeten the deal for COSMIC HORROR."

"I don't know if you've noticed," the Eze said in reply. "But one of our warriors is fast asleep."

"Then you better hope he wakes up," Uncle answered.

"I'll do it myself," the GODDESS offered, whilst removing her battle-axe from her back.

As Uncle stepped backwards, Michelle took her katana out of its long sheath at her side. She felt the dull hum of chirality running through its blade as she held it up near her own face, adopting a defensive stance.

The GODDESS was in front of her. This was the final battle that she was expecting. The one that her heart promised her.

And she felt Gerald at her side. How much of him was really there, she couldn't say for sure. More than just his body, she thought. But less than all of him.

Finally, it began.